“And so will I,” affirmed Brevet, who had kept his place close beside his favourite Allan from the start. “I’ll speak to be buried right by both of you, too, just as though I was one of your family,” and Brevet stood as he spoke with his arms folded and his brows knit, in solemn and soldier-like fashion.
Now and then the little party would group itself around Colonel Anderson as he read the inscription from some monument or headstone, telling of the valour of the man whose grave it marked and often of the brave deed dared that cost the hero his life. And so some idea was gained of the beauty and significance of the great soldier cemetery, and then all hurried back to Grandma Ellis, and Colonel Anderson began his story.
An odd assortment of rush-bottomed chairs had been brought from Joe’s cabin for the grown-ups, and the children were scattered about on shawls and carriage rugs on the ground.
“Now, it isn’t easy,” said Colonel Anderson thoughtfully, “to know just where to commence.”
“Den I’ll tell you,” said Joe, who was seated at the Colonel’s elbow. “Dere ain’t no such proper place ter begin as at de beginnin’. Tell ‘em as how der was a time when Arlington was a great unbroken forest, an’ how way back early in de eighteen hundreds, George Washington Parke Custis came by de lan’ through his father and built Arlington House.”
“If you are going as far back as that, Joe, you ought to go farther, and tell how there was an old house here even before this one, which was built way back early in the seventeen hundreds. It was a little house, with only four rooms, and it stood down yonder near the bank of the river, and was bought with the land by John Custis from the Alexanders. John Custis, you know, children, was Martha Washington’s son, for she was a widow with two children when she married General Washington; and George Washington Parke Custis, who lived for awhile in the little house before he built this beautiful big one, was her grandson. He was a fortunate young fellow, as the world counts being fortunate, for he had more money than he knew what to do with. As soon as this fine house was completed, George Custis was married and brought his bride to his new home, where for the next fifty years they lived the most happy and contented life imaginable. They had one daughter, a very beautiful young lady, as I myself clearly remember, for my birthday and her wedding-day fell together, and that was why I was allowed to attend the wedding. My mother and Miss Mollie’s mother were the warmest friends, but I was only a boy of ten, and would have been left at home, I think, but for the coincidence of the birthday. I remember my mother told me Miss Custis said she would like me always to think of her wedding-day, when my birthday came round, and I can tell you, children, I always do, even though I am an old man and have started in the seventies.” "An’ so do I,” chimed in Joe; “I neber done think of one without de oder, so closely are dey ’sociated in my min’.”
“Why, were you there too, Joe?” asked Brevet, with a merry little twinkle in his eyes, for if there was one story more often told than any other for Brevet’s edification, it was the story of Miss Mary Custis’s wedding.
“Sho’ as yo’ born, Honey,” quite overlooking Brevet’s insinuation in his absorbing interest in the subject. “It was a bery busy day for me, de day Miss Mollie was married.”
“How ole was you, Joe, ‘bout dat time?” asked Mammy, her old eyes a-twinkle with mischief as well as Brevet’s, for Joe’s age, as every one knew, was a mere matter of guesswork, so careful was he that no one should ever come to a knowledge of the same.
“Seems ter me dat question ain’t no wise relavent,” replied Joe, bristling up a little, “but de Colonel and I warn’t so bery far apart when we was chilluns.”